by June Francis
‘You took me by surprise! Anyway, Brycie’s a mate,’ said Joe. ‘He was sticking up for me, just like Viv’s sticking up for you.’
‘She’s family. Who’s this Brycie?’ George glared at the stranger. ‘I think I’ve seen you before and I didn’t like you then!’
‘Oh, stop it,’ said Viv, avoiding the stranger’s aroused glance as she finally released her fingers. ‘If he says he’s sorry you’ll call it quits, won’t you?’
‘If that’s what you want.’ His voice held no trace of a Liverpudlian accent. ‘What do you say, Joe?’
‘Hey, hang on,’ put in George. ‘You did say Brycie? I used to know a Nick Bryce once.’
There was a brief silence.
‘George Cooke,’ said Nick, his voice expressionless. ‘Well, who’d have believed it?’
‘You know each other?’ demanded Viv.
‘From the old street.’ George’s tone held a wary note. ‘We almost killed each other once.’
‘You asked for it.’ Nick’s smile held a certain grimness.
There was silence before Viv murmured, ‘A draw, was it, and neither of you willing to admit it?’
‘You could say that,’ murmured Nick. ‘One of the neighbours threw a bucket of water over us. Nothing like the shock of cold water to stop you in your tracks.’
‘It was you that started it,’ said George, sticking out his chin, an implacable expression on his face.
‘I disagree. It was you insulting my mother that caused it,’ said Nick.
‘I was only a kid,’ said George, shifting uncomfortably. ‘Nick nodded. ‘Cruel little swines, kids.’ There was another silence.
‘It must have been a long time ago. Why don’t you forget it?’ said Viv, thinking this could go on all day with them getting nowhere. Men! ‘Or are you going to make it a lifelong vendetta?’
A corner of Nick’s mouth lifted and his blue eyes scanned her again. ‘It’s hardly a vendetta. But I’m prepared to let bygones be bygones.’
‘George?’
Her cousin shrugged. ‘Suits me.’
‘Good!’ She smiled. ‘Well, if you two aren’t going to kill each other, I’ll leave you to catch up on what’s been happening during the last few years.’
‘Surely there’s no rush for you to go?’ There was no mistaking Nick’s interest and Viv felt herself blushing. She thought, I bet he’s used to girls falling all over him. Well, she wasn’t going to. ‘I’ve things to do,’ she said firmly. ‘We’ve just had a funeral.’
‘Pity,’ he murmured. ‘I’d like to further our acquaintance.’
‘Some other time,’ she said, assuming a casual manner.
She went back to the house with a sigh of relief, wondering what had caused her to feel so wobbly about the knees.
She brought in the box from the yard to count the sovereigns. There were footsteps outside and George let himself in with the key on the string behind the front door. ‘You were quick,’ she said.
‘Had to ask them to go for a pint later. Thought I should do something to make it up to Joe. They’re both just out of the army.’ He stood staring at her, humming tunelessly. ‘How many sovereigns are there?’
‘Thirty.’
‘There should have been hundreds,’ he said gloomily. ‘I suppose Grandad was doolally.’
Viv said thoughtfully, ‘I’m not so sure. At least what he wrote in the letter about burying the box with sovereigns was true. What if he was worried about someone seeing him and decided to divide the money and put some elsewhere?’
‘You mean he could have done that and then forgotten where?’
She nodded.
‘Where d’you suggest?’
‘We could start with his bedroom?’
George’s eyes brightened. ‘Right, you’re on!’
She rose and followed him upstairs. They began to search but found nothing.
Eventually George rested his back against the door and lit a cigarette. ‘There’s nothing here. I suppose we’ll have to forget it.’
Vivien sighed and went over to the window. She thought how great it would have been to have spare cash to buy some decent clothes and perhaps to go to America. Her aunt had suggested them doing so for Christmas.
She stared out of the window. It was getting dark. Her grandfather had seemed to love watching the sky. In his lucid moments he had told her never to close his curtains and she had got into the habit of doing what he said. She had not washed them for an age. Now she tugged on the flower-printed fabric. It felt heavier than it should have. She fingered the hems, remembering her sailor grandfather had been skilful with a needle and thread. Her spirits soared. ‘Scissors!’ she cried.
‘Six hundred sovereigns! I can’t believe it!’ George danced her round and round the kitchen, hugged and kissed her, then danced her round again. ‘I can go off and paint! I can go to Paris! We’ll have to have a party before I go!’
‘What are you talking about?’ gasped Viv, as excited as he was but forcing him to halt.
‘About doing what I’ve always wanted! Painting! Ma told me that Dad always wanted to be a real artist but couldn’t afford it. Now I can.’
Vivien stared into his eyes and smiled. ‘And I can go to America. You should come to, George, really you should. Forget Paris. Paint in America. Your mam would love to see you.’
His smile faded. ‘Don’t go on about America. Mam’s living her own life and we’ve got ours. If you feel like travelling, then come to Paris with me. We’ll have a great time. Or what about South of France? They say the light’s magic there.’ He hugged her and would have kissed her again but she averted her face.
‘It’s not on, George,’ she said seriously. ‘Your mam will be hurt if neither of us go. I can’t go waltzing off to France with you.’
His arms dropped abruptly to his sides and he moved away from her to sit at the table. His fingers toyed with a fold in the brown chenille cloth. ‘You know how I feel about America. If I go there Mike’s family’ll try and turn me into a Yank like they’ve done to Mam and the kids. You’ve read her letters, Viv,’ he said earnestly. ‘I’m British through and through, and proud of it! The Yanks think everything about their country is so great. It’s bigger, it’s better. You’ve heard the way the kids speak of the place in their letters.’
Viv said lightly, ‘To them it probably is. They are half American. You wouldn’t be getting so worked up if you hadn’t drunk so much.’
‘I hope Nick Bryce believed I was drunk because otherwise he’ll think I’m an idiot after what I said to Joe about going round there.’
‘Why? What did you say?’
He avoided her eyes. ‘Told him I couldn’t stand their house being painted blue and white anymore.’
‘He’ll think you’re an idiot anyway,’ she said drily.
A reluctant smile flashed across his face. ‘You never have seen how important it is to support the right team, Viv. Your mam did,’ he said. ‘She was a keen Liverpool supporter when she was a girl. She told me so.’
‘I don’t want to know,’ Viv said tonelessly. ‘But you do realise that if my mother knew about this money, she’d be over here quicker than you could say Jack Flash? She loved money did my mother, and she was a right skinflint. I remember her paying me a mouldy sixpence to help clean the flat when she was married to Kevin.’
‘Sixpence was sixpence in the forties,’ said George, smiling.
‘Your mam didn’t think so. She doubled it.’ Viv got off the subject of the past quickly. ‘Shouldn’t you be getting ready if you’re going out? But better not have more than one pint or you’ll be falling down,’ she added, remembering a terrifying time when Kevin, her stepfather, had been drunk.
‘Don’t be pert, young Viv,’ her cousin said severely. ‘I’ll decide how much booze I can take. You just put the money away. I’ll take it to Pryor’s in London Road as soon as I get the chance.’ He went whistling out of the room.
Viv swept the gold coins into the old
tin box. Just as she closed it there was a loud knock on the window and she jumped. Joe stood outside, his face pressed against the glass. Quickly she placed the box under the table, feeling inexplicably furtive. Then she got up and went to open the door.
Nick Bryce entered behind Joe. ‘George won’t be long,’ she said.
‘What about you? Aren’t you coming?’
The thought had not even entered her head and Nick’s words surprised her. ‘Isn’t it boys only?’
‘Not that I know of,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you come?’
Before she could say anything George entered the room. He looked from his cousin to Nick Bryce and frowned. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothing,’ she said.
But Nick answered, ‘I thought Viv might like to come with us.’
‘She’s not old enough,’ said George abruptly.
‘If she put on a bit of make-up she’d pass for eighteen,’ said Nick softly. ‘I thought she might be missing her grandad and need cheering up.’
‘She was glad to see the old man go,’ said George, zipping up his leather jacket.
Viv winced. ‘Don’t make it sound like I wished him dead!’
Nick leant against the table and gazed at her. ‘It’s not so unusual to want someone dead, you know. Families can drive you mad at times. Mine often does. So I wouldn’t feel guilty if I was you.’
‘I don’t know what I feel exactly,’ she murmured, surprised by his words. ‘He was old, senile, and I believe he’s better out of it.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘He wasn’t always lovable but maybe it’s remembering those times when I wished him to kingdom come that makes me feel …’ She shrugged. ‘Oh, I don’t know!’ She stared at him. ‘Do you have a grandfather?’
‘No.’ His smile came and went. ‘But I have parents who made me feel guilty for years. They divorced and my family life before and since has been anything but normal.’
‘I could tell her a few things about your family,’ muttered George, impatiently opening the front door.
Nick’s eyes glinted. ‘Tell away. Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me.’
‘But that’s not true!’ said Viv with feeling. ‘Being called names does hurt.’
‘So I lied,’ said Nick quietly. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to go out? We could leave these two to go to the pub and go somewhere else.’
Viv’s heart suddenly bumped uncomfortably fast. She was aware of George staring at her, narrow-eyed, waiting for her answer. Suddenly she thought of the day she had had and realised that she could not take any more emotion. Peace and quiet and putting up her feet were all she needed. ‘Thanks,’ she said to Nick. ‘But I’m worn out with the funeral and everything else.’
He showed no disappointment at her refusal. ‘Another time perhaps?’
She nodded and her heartbeat slowed. ‘Have a nice time, the three of you.’ She turned away and picked up the evening paper.
The door closed and she wondered if after all Nick Bryce was just being polite. She considered what he had said about his family. His parents were divorced. There would have been gossip. Did he live with his mother or father? She found herself thinking of her own mother. Sticks and stones …
Learning about her own illegitimacy was something that had come late but Viv had always realised there was something about her that caused people to whisper as she passed by. Why couldn’t you have been married to my father? she asked inwardly. I have no face to remember, no name to inherit. Inexplicably, she felt bereft because of not knowing. Never before had she felt it so strongly. She stared unseeingly at an advertisement in the newspaper then mentally shook herself. She was being stupid. What was the good of self-pity?
She read: ‘Starlight glamour at C & A. Desert Song harem dress of brocade which whispers magic with every step’. It had a satin sash to enhance the high waistline, and a hooped underskirt. It was nine guineas, but what a dream of a dress! Viv’s spirits lifted slightly. The dress could do wonders for her morale. Make her look older too. Not old enough to drink, George had said, clearly trying to put her among the young ones and out of Nick Bryce’s reach. Nine guineas! She thought of the sovereigns and her spirits soared. She could afford it.
Viv turned several pages. Pinky and Perky were having a Christmas party at T.J. Hughes. Christmas was coming, the goose was getting fat, but where would she be for the holiday? America? Paris? Liverpool? It was nice to have a choice. She tried to concentrate on the newspaper, reading that Southport was reclaiming more land from the sea. That the Cardinals in Rome were sending out smoke signals telling the world that they were having trouble choosing a new pope. That the son of a British soldier had been killed in Cyprus.
She put down the newspaper and stared into the fire, thinking of Nick Bryce. He had been tanned. Had he got that tan in Cyprus? Had he had to face death? She compared him with Pete of the Tony Curtis haircut whom she had gone out with what seemed ages ago now. Pete’s creeping fingers had fiddled with the neck of her dress on the third row back in the pictures. She had slapped his hand, determined that no boy was going to consider her easy game. Next he had lifted the hem of her gingham skirt and hooped underskirt with his crepe-soled suede shoe, and rubbed her leg, laddering her nylons. How could he believe that did something to a girl? Perhaps he wasn’t right in the head? He was only half a teddy boy after all with the shoes and a string tie and a jacket that wasn’t draped right. He seemed so juvenile compared to Nick Bryce. He seemed like a man who had felt things, seen things, done things. How had she worked that out after knowing him just five minutes? She could be deceiving herself.
Viv’s gaze wandered to the newspaper again and she stared at the sketch of the dress. It really would make her look older, but for what occasion would she wear it? Then she remembered that George had said something about a party. Who would he invite? Probably not Nick Bryce. Nine guineas! She wasn’t used to spending so much money on herself and felt guilty. Then she thought of all she had done for her grandfather and made up her mind. To hell with being sensible. She would buy the dress and knock a few fellas dead!
CHAPTER TWO
‘You’re not really serious about buying that?’ demanded Dot Taylor, staring disbelievingly at the vision in apricot brocade. ‘It would suit me better.’ She was tall and slender with dark hair, whereas Viv was only five foot two and went in and out in the right places.
‘You haven’t got the money,’ said Viv. ‘So hard cheese.’ She scrutinised her reflection with narrowed eyes. She felt really glam but was it the kind of dress for the party they planned? And was it right having a party so soon after Grandfather’s death? She still had her doubts but had agreed with George that the old house could do with livening up. It had been in the doldrums for what seemed a hundred years. Her cousin had not mentioned Paris for a week and she hoped that he had changed his mind.
‘Is it that John Hanson is going to be there and you want him to whisk you off to the nearest sand hill and smother you in kisses?’ said Dot, taking the turquoise taffeta dress that Viv had also tried on and holding it against herself.
‘Not at this time of year! Besides, he’s too old for me.’ Viv stroked the skirt of the frock, loving the feel of the brocade and the silky texture of the satin sash. She twirled round and hummed ‘Some Day My Prince Will Come’.
‘You’ve a hope. There’s no princes for sale in Liverpool,’ Dot sighed. ‘Put it back and let’s go.’
‘I’m buying it.’
‘More fool you. It’s not practical.’
‘I’m fed up of being practical.’ Viv’s brown eyes were suddenly mutinous.
‘You’ll regret it. But hurry up, I want to go to NEMS and look at the records.’
As Viv struggled out of the dress she said, ‘That reminds me – could you bring some of your records next Saturday? Some of those your Norm got off your cousin Billy.’ Cousin Billy was a steward on a liner that went to New York and he brought back all the latest American hits befo
re they reached the shops in England.
‘Sure,’ said Dot. ‘Although are you sure you wouldn’t prefer a live group? You know what a whizz our Norm is on the tea chest and two strings.’ Her eyes met Viv’s with an expression in them that said she knew her friend would enjoy the joke. ‘Although you’ll never believe this … he’s bought himself a guitar from Hessey’s on the never never and is teaching himself chords. I think he’s deserting Lonnie and skiffle for Elvis and rock ‘n’ roll.’
‘It’s bound to be an improvement on thunk-thunk,’ said Viv. ‘But bring the records anyway. And Norm, unaccompanied. One thing he can do, and that’s jive!’ And on that note she went to pay for the dress.
The day of the party was hectic for Viv. George had half heartedly offered to help but once she got him to move some of the furniture upstairs to make room for dancing she told him to go to the football match. Paris had come up in conversation again that morning and she did not want him distracting her all afternoon by going on about the Louvre and Impressionist painters and the wonderful light in the South of France. She had told him that the light was just as good on a summer day over the Mersey and that she was going to California to get a suntan and watch the oranges grow. They had come near to quarrelling so she was glad to have him out of the way while she got on with making a trifle and several dozen sandwiches. Sausage rolls and meat pies were bought in.
That evening, as Viv prepared to go downstairs, she wondered which of George’s friends would be there. She thought of Nick Bryce. Her cousin had not mentioned him since the day of the funeral and she figured that the past still rankled with him for all his fine words. She dismissed the thought from her mind and worried instead about her catering, hoping that there would be enough food. She had heard the door open several times but had left it to her cousin to welcome their guests. She wanted to make a grand entrance.
She looked at herself in the mirror and dampened the wispy kiss curls on her forehead with spit before checking that her pony tail, which she had folded under and clipped, was secure. She used her mascara brush again and nearly blinded herself. Then she applied another coat of coral lipstick. Despite the freezing temperature in her grandfather’s bedroom she had decided that a cardigan would spoil the effect of the dress. She straightened her back and took a deep breath, listening to the strains of the Everly Brothers’ ‘Wake Up, Little Susie’. Then she went downstairs.